A killer haunted by false accusations he was involved in one of Britain’s most horrific murders has dubbed the publication of his story “my long awaited right of reply”.

“Scapegoat to Murder” – crafted by crime-writer Simon Golding from a manuscript drafted behind bars by Bert Spencer – chronicles the former ambulance driver’s torment over the high-profile campaign linking him with the 1978 murder of Stourbridge paperboy Carl Bridgewater.

And the 74-year-old questions the murder conviction – and 15-year stretch – he received for blasting to death pensioner Hubert Wilkes during a Christmas party.

The former martial arts expert believes a mix of anti-depressants and anabolic steroids coupled with a concussion from a fall robbed him of reason.

Spencer, now living in a remote hamlet on the fringes of Lincolnshire fenland, said: “This book is my right of reply, a right of reply that was suppressed for years.

Below: Carl Bridgewater and Bert Spencer - the key pictures

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“The powers-that-be are a cesspit from top to bottom. I have endured years and years of persecution from writers, celebrities and MPs, which is supposed to be illegal in this country. And I was never given a right to reply.

“I have been painted to be the most evil bugger on this Earth. It’s time people heard the truth.”

It was a mantra quickly copied by Spencer’s fellow inmates, though the Black Country hardman was a respected, even feared, figure on the wings. In Wormwood Scrubs, lags chanted “kill Bert Spencer” from their cells.

The Bridgewater Four – Vincent and Michael Hickey, James Robinson and Patrick Molloy – had been wrongly jailed for killing Carl in 1979. Following a high-profile campaign, spearheaded by Mr Foot, their convictions were overturned 17 years ago.

Only the Hickeys – Vincent is 60 and Michael 52 – have survived what has been dubbed one of Britain’s greatest miscarriages of justice. Molloy, convicted of manslaughter, died in prison in 1981, Robinson fell victim to cancer in 2007.

Now Spencer is poised to hit back at those who put him in the frame, those who dubbed his slaying of Hubert Wilkes a “copy-cat” killing.

Not surprisingly, his opinion of Paul Foot, who died in 2004, has not mellowed with the years. “He was so dogmatic, over-the-top dogmatic. It was unfair. In a court of law there are supposed to be two sides to every story. Paul Foot and his numerous mindless followers only had one.”

Yet Spencer’s 80,000-word prison document, written with the help of fellow lag Mark Roman at North Sea Camp Prison, Boston, was lost for years.

The dog-eared pages were discovered two years ago in a skip near Spencer’s home and presented to Mr Golding.

The writer, from Bridgnorth, Shropshire, said: “Twenty years after his release, Bert Spencer is still being hounded over Carl, even though there is a total lack of evidence against him.

“He even has a cast-iron alibi, but still the accusations come pouring-in. Over the years, people have slowly been brainwashed by the media and it has almost become folklore, like ‘the Butler did it’. The mantra now, when anyone discusses the Carl Bridgewater case is, ‘the ambulance man did it’.”

Spencer is even more forthright. “I did not kill Carl Bridgewater. I was a suspect and there were 37 prime suspects. No one bothers to say I had a cast-iron alibi. I was at work at the time.” Only recently, Barbara Riebold, a fellow worker at Wordsley’s Corbett Hospital, reiterated that was the case.

Someone saw a car like mine,” he shrugged, “but I’d sold mine to a copper.

“They said I was a collector of antiques [believed to be the booty targeted during the bloody, botched Yew Tree Farm raid]. Was I the only one? I had a shotgun licence, so did 50,000 other people. But when it’s all tied in a knot it looks bad.”

Spencer is a man haunted by his own crime, the motiveless slaying of friend Hubert Wilkes. Since being sentenced to life in 1978 and released in 1994, he has searched for reasons for blasting a man who employed him as part-time labourer at Holloway House Farm, in Prestwood, near Stourbridge. Spencer’s then wife, Janet, was the 70-year-old’s secretary.

When asked by detectives if he had a motive, the gunman admitted: “No. Can you suggest one?”

“In prison, one of the psychiatrists told me to stop beating myself up,” he recalled. “I still do mentally punish myself. I hate what I did, but I can’t change it.

“He said I was an insanely jealous man... I didn’t realise it at the time. I always pent-up my feelings. I’d never punched anyone, I wouldn’t even slam doors.

“I always kept things locked away. The psychiatrist said, ‘on the night you had a lot to drink that got rid of your inhibitions and they (the victims) got the lot.

“That’s what happens. They get the lot.”

Janet and Mr Wilkes’ daughter, Jean, were present on that terrible December 1979 night at Holloway House. Jean was smashed to the ground by the gunman.

Spencer can remember being swept by feelings of hot rage. He staggered out of the room then stumbled over discarded boots.

“I have no idea how long I lay there,” he said, “but I came round in a shadowy world in a state of mental limbo.

“I can’t dispute what happened next as I can’t recall or comprehend it.”

What happened next makes chilling reading. Spencer fished a hacksaw from the boot of his car and in a dingy outbuilding turned one of his victim’s shotguns into a sawn-off weapon.

He then strode back into the room, trained the gun on Mr Wilkes’ temple and squeezed the trigger.

Picking his way through a mental fog, he described slamming the boot of his white estate car with such force it roused 2,000 turkeys into a startled chorus.

“They made a hell of a racket.

“I drove out of the farmyard and there was an ambulance coming down. I knew the driver and he warned me, ‘don’t go down the lane, there’s a gunman on the loose’. I said, ‘Barry, that might be me’.

“He (Hubert Wilkes) was like a father to me.

“I think that was it – I couldn’t hit him, I couldn’t swear at him. He didn’t deserve that, no-one does. I have hurt the Wilkes family, but I have served the punishment the government imposed on me in full.”

Those championing the Bridgewater Four’s battle for justice discovered Spencer had links with Yew Tree Farm and Mr Wilkes’ body was found in the same position as Carl’s.

For some, that was enough. It was far from enough for police.

The swirl of speculation is understandable.

Witnesses saw a blue Vauxhall Viva driven into Yew Tree Farm by a man in a blue uniform. Spencer once possessed such a car and, as an ambulance driver, a uniform.

At first he did not tell detectives he knew the farm, its owners and the victim, but later admitted going shooting at Yew Tree and, between 1969 and 1974, living on the same street as Carl, who used to play with his daughter.

“I was interviewed three times and on each occasion it was a set questionnaire. I didn’t say anything because I didn’t have the opportunity, they were set questions,” pointed out Spencer.

Simon Golding said: “In all, 7,000 statements were taken during the investigation and Bert was eliminated. That is a fact.”

For Spencer the book, scheduled for release in January, is a last roll of the dice. From jail, he attempted to appeal his conviction for murdering Mr Wilkes but received short shrift.

He has slipped quietly into rural life, even getting a job driving the community bus. He has become a Quaker and spends retirement making his own cheese and beer.

Many neighbours know of Spencer’s violent past. How they or the general public view him is of little concern to Spencer.

“I am 74,” he shrugged, “and, frankly, nothing really matters.

“I’m not afraid. I’ll die one day. I don’t want to go, but I fear nothing. I am not bitter, I just want the truth and it’s long overdue.”